


The Story Of You

by WilmaKins



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Light-Hearted, M/M, Stony - Freeform, light and fluffy, literally no angst at all, very subtle romantic undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 07:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16132484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilmaKins/pseuds/WilmaKins
Summary: A very happy, friendly evening after one of Tony Stark's parties, the Avengers are just hanging out and talking about nothing. And someone asks, what are the stories that sum us up best? If you could only tell one story about one of us, which story would it be?Steve smiles, because he already knows the answer."I know what story I’d tell about Tony. It starts off with me walking into his workshop to find him trying on a pair of black stiletto heels..."





	The Story Of You

**Author's Note:**

> So, the reason for this very light and basically meaningless fluff is really that I'd just finished writing quite a long and angsty fic with many bad feels... and I wrote this afterwards as a break from all the intense.
> 
> So, if you're here because you enjoyed the pain and anger of the last one, this might not actually be for you. This is more, one of those 'memories from a happier time' they were both so wistfully thinking about. 
> 
> But if you'd just like a silly story about Tony and Steve liking and appreciating each other and giggling a lot, then I really hope you enjoy it :-)

The best bit of their parties was always after the party. The bit after everyone else had gone home, when they could turn off the middle-of-the-road music and turn on the lights. The bit when it was just them, drinking beer and eating left-overs on the couch. The bit where it didn’t even look like a party anymore, but it still felt like one.

 

Everyone was warmer, after parties. Softened by laughter and dancing, some of them a little bit drunk. And those nights Steve would sit and drink beer with them and even he would feel a little bit drunk. He felt part of something, when it was just them like that. He would join in those rambling, abstract conversations, and mean it when he smiled. He loved that feeling.

 

This had been the Stark Industries Christmas Party, an hour ago. But the last of the staggering executives had finally been deposited into their town cars, and the festive easy-listening had been replaced by Clint’s weird-ass playlist, and now it was _their_ party again. Steve found Clint, Nat and Sam already sprawled out on the couches in the lobby, waiting. He flopped down without thinking, no longer hovering for an invitation or a clue about what was going on, like he would have done a year ago. He let himself melt into their conversation, picking it up as they talked.

 

These were the nights they discussed what happened after you died, what scared you about the theory of AI, how avenging had affected your political view – and, what you hated about the Post Office, why cats have a bad rep, which cartoons you thought were creepy as a kid. The big and the small. The things that told you far more about a person than daytime conversation about the college they went to or how they met their wife.

 

And tonight’s topic of conversation was apparently _the stories that sum us up best_. If you could only tell _one_ story about any of us, what story would it be? And Steve grinned, because he had at least one answer already. One story that immediately came to mind as perfect.

 

“I know what story I’d tell about Tony.”

 

“Just one?” Tony asked in a mock-hurt tone. Steve looked over his shoulder to see Tony, Bruce and Rhodey walking over. He smiled. He was pleased Tony was here for this.

“Those are the rules” Nat informed him. “Steve thinks he has _one_ story that sums you up”

 

Everyone looked at Steve, expectantly.

 

*

 

Back in Spring of that year Steve had gone up to Tony’s workshop with a raft of papers for him to sign. Well, really, he’d wandered up because it was Sunday afternoon and he was bored, and there was usually something interesting happening on the top floors.

 

Like, for example, walking in to find Tony sitting with his foot on the desk – in a black stiletto.

 

“Hey.” Tony greeted him, without looking up. Instead, he was frowning thoughtfully at his own foot. Steve stopped and watched him for a moment as he turned his leg one way, then the other, like he was searching for something specific. Steve broke into a smile he could feel in his chest – because it was so very Tony.

 

Tony looked undeniably _daft_ in that moment, even without the unconventional footwear. The undignified position and the strange facial expression alone were ridiculous. And Tony didn’t care. It was one of the weird and wonderful contradictions of the man that Steve was only just beginning to understand. How he could care enough about his appearance to spend that long getting ready, and still not give a damn how silly he looked…

 

“Alright, I give.” Steve grinned, after a minute. “What are you doing?”

“Hm?” Tony finally looked up at him “Oh, I assume Rhodey told you about the sponsorship meeting with Pride?” He spoke as though it was a hypothetical question, but Steve just frowned.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about” He answered, and Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised “I thought he’d told _everyone_ this story – okay, so Stark Industries are one of the corporate sponsors of Pride this year, and I had to go to a meeting, and I met this woman who makes high heeled shoes for men and transwomen” He shorthanded the details, talking in that easy, speedy patter “And it ended up with her asking me to try on a pair, _which_ ended with me falling flat on my face”

 

Steve laughed before he could stop himself. Partly, because that mental picture was hilarious. But partly… _Of course_ Tony had tried on a pair. _Why_ was he telling Steve he fell flat on his face? Wasn’t he supposed to be vainer than this?

 

“You’re right, I can’t believe Rhodey hasn’t told me this story” Steve told him, still giggling.

“I know, right?” Tony smiled back. “He’ll be so disappointed that you already know.”

“So…You’re now determined to learn how to walk in heels?” Steve guessed, because that was one of the many things Tony would _so_ do…

“Please” Tony snorted “I figured that out in ten minutes.” And then, over another bout of laughter from Steve “I can fly a robot and fire at a moving target at the same time – I can handle heels.”

 

He said it so _seriously._

“So why…?”

“Because, it turns out, heels _hurt_ ” Tony explained “Like, every time Nat’s had to kick someone’s ass in heels, turns out she was already injuring _herself_ – it’s like you punching yourself twice before you even start. Madness. _And_ , Judy, who makes these, spends a lot of her time thinking about how to make them more comfortable…”

“And you think you can design them better.”

“I think the problem is, she’s seeing these as an item of clothing” He gestured to his foot again “But really this is a question of distribution of pressure and pivot points. This is actually an engineering problem I have on my foot”

 

That one sentence summed up so much of Tony. The part of him that was always trying to make things better, just for the sake of it, whether it was guns or solar panels or shoes. The part of him that was always looking at things _differently_ , turning things into engineering and science and maths like an illusionist. The part of him that was arrogant enough to assume that he, having tried on a pair of heels once and fallen over in them, could design them better than anyone else – and was probably right.

 

If that had been it for the day, it would have made a good Tony story. Steve might even have thought it was the perfect Tony story –

 

Until they heard the shouting from downstairs.

 

Tony tensed immediately. Because, like all of them, he carried the weight of the world at all times – he just pulled it off better than most. So well, that for a long time Steve had been annoyed at him for never paying attention, anxious that something terrible would happen while Tony was distracted by a joke or a game or a silly side project.

 

Moments like this had shown Steve that, underneath the easy charm and laid-back smile, Tony was _always_ paying attention.

 

Within seconds, the whole floor was alight with holograms and live feeds from the surveillance cameras. It was an overload of information, nothing but lights and numbers to Steve. But Tony, who had just been so childishly engrossed in a pair of shiny shoes, took it all in with a single sweep.

 

“Unknown lifeforms, one floor down, nothing on the cameras.” He summarised, enlarging a few of the camera feeds as he spoke. Fragments of broken furniture scattered around an empty lab; the staff had apparently had the good sense to run.

“We don’t know how they got in?” Steve asked, knowing that Tony would already be triggering an emergency evacuation. Trusting him to be two steps ahead.

“No doors triggered” Tony shook his head. And then he frowned. He wound back whatever footage had caught his attention and waved at Steve to look at it – what looked like a desk exploding into splinters, all on its own

 

“I don’t think they show up on cameras at all…”

 

*

 

It turned out, it was all an accident. A total fluke. A training exercise happening between _masters of the ancient arts_ , whatever that meant, which had somehow slipped from somewhere in Nepal to the middle of New York – Steve never did get all the details.

 

But at the time he and Tony had to assume that the tower was under attack, and apparently by something invisible.

 

Obviously, the first thing Tony did was call for his suit – and then he swore.

“What the hell kind of energy reading is that?” He muttered to himself, scanning the screens desperately. Steve heard him ask JARVIS why his suit wasn’t responding, but he had started zoning him out – energy readings and technical questions were Tony’s field. He wasn’t saying any of this for Steve’s benefit, and Steve couldn’t be of any benefit up here.

 

He had to get down there.

 

“Call the others” Steve shouted, somewhat redundantly, as he ran for the stairs.

 

Clint and Nat were out somewhere, he had no idea how far away. Rhodey and Sam had gone out to get lunch, they’d make it back in less than ten minutes… Bruce had been in the building, but Steve had to hope he’d left when he heard the alarm – this was definitely _not_ a code green situation.

 

So, potentially, he had to contain this on his own for ten minutes. If he got into real trouble before then, there was Tony. He knew that.

 

Walking into the lab had been a genuinely eerie experience, like walking into a paranormal event. Chairs moved on their own, desks were sent scuttering across the floor, rubble was thrown and displaced. Steve could hear the sound of grunts and footfalls. But there was nothing, no one there.

 

For a moment or two, Steve just watched the commotion, trying to get his bearings. Whatever these things were, they only seemed interested in trashing this one lab. The destruction looked as though it was contained within a wide circle, the same broken furniture being smashed…or smashed _into_ … again and again… maybe it was better not to intervene at all yet, wait until Tony’s suit was back online or Sam and Rhodey made it back-

 

And then there was a sharp _snap_ against the back of his head, hard and sudden enough to disorient him for a second. His vision exploded into stars as he lurched forward, but he managed to stay on his feet, instinctively swinging round to confront-

 

Oh yeah, nothing.

 

And even though Steve had _known_ that, it still confused his brain and his body, it still jarred with his hardwired instincts and expectations. His next step back stuttered, making him feel panicked and unsteady on his feet. He felt the air beside him move and swung his arm instinctively, the edge of his fist brushing against a solid presence that didn’t exist. He felt something shift next to him, heard something clatter behind him, saw things moving when they shouldn’t and saw nothing where he should. Then something solid and dark came flying into his field of vision, and Steve’s training kicked in quickly enough for him to avoid it – but it wasn’t enough for him to avoid what he crashed into instead, an invisible form that hit him square in the chest.

 

Every basic mental function was fighting him by now. He _knew_ his instincts were wrong, but he still wanted to rely on the senses that he knew were tricking him. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds since he was first hit, maybe a minute since he ran down from Tony’s lab – it was going to be harder than he’d thought, to manage this until help arrived.

 

There was another crash behind him, and Steve _wanted_ to look – but he stopped himself. With great effort, he force-stopped his brain and made it start again. _There is no point looking at the crash. You have to think where it came from._ And as Steve looked at the empty space where the desk chair had come from, he realised, there was no point looking at all.

 

Against every instinct as an avenger, a soldier and a human being, Steve closed his eyes. He made himself stand stock still and blind in the middle of a battlefield – because it was the only way he’d be able to do this.

 

He heard the sound of footsteps running nearby and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He wanted to look up, of course he did, _but there would be nothing there._ He could hear it all clearer with his eyes shut. He could _feel_ better, without incorrect senses trying to fool him.

 

Three or four of them, at least in the ten feet surrounding him. They weren’t moving around the lab anymore, but they weren’t completely still – he could feel them shifting, he could hear them breathing hard. Men, he thought, probably young. One maybe an arms length away, moving slowly now… circling…. Steve had to trust his wonky instincts now.

 

Eyes still shut, Steve trusted his body, followed the punch through with his whole chest. He felt it make contact, he recognised the feeling of getting the other guy _just off_ the bridge of the nose, the weight of him being lifted from the floor. Steve knew how it would have looked, exactly how far he’d just thrown the other person, he could picture it as clearly as if he’d had his eyes open.

 

Unfortunately, the comfort was short lived.

 

Because Steve could picture just as clearly the people behind him, reacting to the attack, getting ready to retaliate. He could feel them closing in. He went for what he though was the nearest one, knowing immediately that he’d misjudged it, brushing the side of somethings jaw and throwing his own balance. He narrowly dodged another blow from the left, which was more luck than judgement.

 

He leapt back as carefully as he could, trying to remember what debris had been littering the floor. His blindness was beginning to suffocate him; the temptation to open his eyes was overwhelming. And then, just as he’d landed another hard kick to the centre of someone’s chest, Steve felt his ankle hit something lying on the floor. The floor went out from under him in a flash, the whole world rolling in the darkness of his head as he fell flat on his back.

 

He opened his eyes, and suddenly he didn’t know where any of them where.

 

Steve knew he had to get up. Whatever else, he _had_ to get up-

 

And then he couldn’t see again. His vision burned and blurred as the room came alive with a familiar fizzing sound… water… water on metal, water in his eyes – the sprinkler system.

 

 _Tony has turned on the sprinkler system_.

 

And just like that, it all made sense. Steve knew exactly what Tony was thinking, he knew immediately what he had to do. He wiped the water from his eyes with a swipe and threw himself onto his feet in one fluid motion. He already knew he’d see them now, empty spaces under the spray.

 

Three of them, in front of him, unnervingly human shapes missing from the flow of water. That left one behind him, but Steve knew he didn’t even have to turn to look. He _knew_ Tony was in the lab now, he could hear him breathing behind him, Steve would always know that voice. And he knew that if Tony was behind him, he was covered.

 

Instead, he took advantage of the last few seconds in which his attackers were distracted and took them out with a single blow each, this time aimed well enough to keep a man down. As the last one fell Steve heard the sharp crack of something hitting the thing behind him, and the wet thump of it falling to the floor like the others.

 

When Steve turned around he saw Tony, holding the remains of a desk-leg with both hands like a bat. He was breathing heavily, looking down on the void at his feet, his t-shirt clinging, soaked, to his skin, tiny flecks of water glittering on those very long eyelashes…

 

…Not that Steve told that part of the story. But Tony _did_ look very pretty, in that moment.

 

And then Tony relaxed, dropped the pole with a clatter and took a slow breath. He looked up at Steve, and he _smiled_.

 

“You took your time” Steve teased, his breathing still laboured. He caught the flash of a grin before Tony covered himself, and pulled off a very convincing incredulous face.

 

“Excuse me?” He asked, and again, he sounded so _serious_. “I got down here in 30 seconds flat, took an invisible guy out-“ He raised a finger, to illustrate the importance of his additional points “ _On a wet floor_ ” Pause for dramatic effect.

 

“ _In heels”_

 

And Tony pointed, dramatically, at his own feet, and raised an eyebrow defiantly.

 

Steve did know, even then, that all of that actually _was_ amazing. Not least, because it meant that Tony had run to Steve’s aid without a moment’s hesitation. Without a thought. Tony hadn’t even stopped to kick his shoes off, because Steve had been in trouble. That really was impressive, and quite touching. And the fact that he’d pulled it off – on a wet floor, in heels – was probably quite impressive too. Unfortunately, Steve had no chance to give Tony credit for any of it-

 

Because he was already laughing too hard.

 

Steve laughed then like he hadn’t laughed since the forties. An immediate, irrepressible laugh, right from his gut, a feeling too pure and joyous to contain. Because that was just _so_ Tony. He’d thought to turn the sprinkler system on, of course he had – but not about his shoes. A mind capable of thinking a million different things, even in a time of crisis, a man capable of putting one plan in motion while running into combat – in the shoes he happened to be wearing. Even the deadpan delivery of that revelation, the pretend bragging, the fact that he was _still_ trying to keep a straight face even as Steve dissolved in front of him – it was too perfect for Steve to do anything _but_ laugh. Steve laughed until he was weak, until there was no sound, until even Tony’s poker face cracked and he was forced to laugh at just how much Steve was laughing.   

 

By the time Rhodey and Sam burst in, Steve was in actual pain, his ribs and jaw aching from the effort of it. He couldn’t breathe. And he thought, _please don’t ask me to explain, I’ll literally die if I start laughing again_.

 

“You okay man?” Sam asked, scanning the ruins of the room.

 

Steve could only nod, helplessly.

 

*

 

Steve had eventually told Sam and Rhodey what he’d been laughing about. But apparently, amazingly, he’d never gotten around to telling anyone else – at least, if their reaction now was anything to go by. Clint was laughing nearly as hard as Steve had at the time, and Nat was literally crying.

“The ultimate Tony story” Bruce agreed, when he’d controlled his giggling enough to talk. Natasha nodded.

“No more Tony stories” Clint decreed, his voice still high and strange with laughing “We have a winner.”

 

Steve glanced over at Tony, who was smiling smugly at the attention he was receiving – but was that just a hint of a blush?

“Doesn’t that make it Tony’s turn?” Sam reminded them, grinning along with them even though he _had_ heard the story before. “You’re supposed to come up with a story that sums one of us up”

 

Everyone looked at Tony. Steve caught the way he glanced at him, brief enough that he could believe he’d imagined it, before he looked over to answer Sam.

“Oh, I don’t think I could top that” He smiled.

 

Actually, Tony could think of a few stories – one, particularly, that summed Steve up pretty well. One story that covered that easy acceptance of the world around him, however strange he found it, and that ability to find mundane things that interested him. The same story that showed how quickly he jumped to action, how readily he threw himself into harms way whatever he was up against – how brave and clever and resourceful he could be when literally nothing was familiar to him. The same story, and the same man, who collapsed into giggles like a delighted schoolboy just two minutes after taking on an army of ghosts with his eyes closed-

 

But they’d just heard that story. So.

 

“Unfortunately, no one here has been as brilliant as that, so I have no similarly brilliant stories” He shrugged, nonchalantly. The room erupted into good natured groaning. Clint threw a cushion at him. Steve just smiled, and rolled his eyes.

 

So Tony.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading :-)


End file.
